


Most Vehement Flame

by Eliza



Category: Boondock Saints (1999)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-08
Updated: 2006-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza/pseuds/Eliza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the LJ fic community <strong>fonicari</strong><br/>Inspired by the prompt lyrics:<br/><em>So I'm too violent,<br/>Too volatile to touch you,<br/>Fill you with my demons.<br/>But these hands are too hungry to be gentle.</em> -- Surface by Orisha</p>
    </blockquote>





	Most Vehement Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ fic community **fonicari**  
> Inspired by the prompt lyrics:  
> _So I'm too violent,  
> Too volatile to touch you,  
> Fill you with my demons.  
> But these hands are too hungry to be gentle._ \-- Surface by Orisha

The smell of blood and gunpowder has an alchemy that makes him feel like something other shares space in his mind. The common impulse usually softened with care and sweetened with smiles, blanketed in love, becomes hard edged and slightly bitter. Metallic. Iron and copper.

Until the moment he is touched. Then the volatile elements take hold. Sparks become explosions. Warmth becomes an inferno. Bitterness burned away, and the edges malleable. He is so easily molded in this hell they have created for themselves. This hell where he is willing to hide from God just to touch heaven. But not yet.

Blood comes again in the kiss, feeding the beast that rages inside but quelling it as well. The benediction of life. They live. Still. And the taste confirms it, flowing fresh as he reaches in and finds the small cut just inside the lower lip.

"Fuck, Murph. Don't worry at it." And Connor moves the kiss to his jaw, toward his throat.

"I won't," Murphy promises, daring to take Connor's face in his hands, bringing him back to where Murphy can breathe his breath again. "Don't go."

"Bossy bastard," Connor mutters, but doesn't fight the pressure that brings his mouth back onto Murphy's.

It takes all of Murphy's strength to be gentle, to be careful, when all he wants to do...is exactly what Connor is doing. Pushing, straining, aching to get as close as possible. Closer. As close as they were at the beginning of time.

The surprise is that it is always a revelation, every time Connor's need matches his own. Every time he figures out that his own hands loose a similar beast, the twin of the one that lives in him.

Murphy gives in to his demon with bruises and bites, the brands of his hunger, much lesser wounds compared to the others that they've meted out today. Yet, these marks will stay long after the blood and metal of the others are indiscernible from the dust. They may fade to the eye but Murphy knows all of the places where he has proclaimed Connor as his, and every piece of him Connor has claimed.

Every piece. They have had enough time together to be sure of that, but Murphy doesn't believe in taking chances. The heat of breath and blood and come brands him every place they touch. And they touch everywhere. Until they become a part of the flame, stop fighting the demon and remember how to find heaven.


End file.
